Yay for me!

Good news is, I passed my exam. I did better than I thought as well so that was quite the ego boost. Now I’m on to studying for my third and final exam, which is based on my dissertation bibliography, so I’m finally starting on my own project. I’m pretty excited.

Now if only I were as confident in my personal life as I am in my academic situation.

Daddy’s on the Drink Again

Is there a fairy? A drunk dad fairy. . .that tip-toes in, takes the TV changer out of his hand, puts a blanket around his shoulders, lifts his head off his chest, so his neck won’t be sore tomorrow when the liquor leaves him for a time? Is there a drunk dad fairy? That pays for that Chinese food?

– Bruce McCulloch.

Today I’m wearing my Kids in the Hall t-shirt. It has a picture of Simon and Hecubus on the chest, with the word EVIL dripping off it like blood. People often look at me a bit sideways when I’m in this shirt, as if I were some kind of satan-worshipper or badly styled goth. But every now and again someone who knows better lights up with a smile and says “that’s a great shirt.”

I’ll never forget the time my sister and I were watching a Simon and Hecubus sketch and our dad came into the room, lit up with something not quite like a smile. He immediately turned off the TV and forbade us from ever watching The Kids in the Hall again. “That show is Satanic! It’s not right for young girls!” He refused to let us explain that it was a joke. Isn’t it odd, the apparently insignificant moments we remember.

I don’t think my dad would have like The Kids in the Hall much anyway, had he taken the time to watch it. The recurring “drunk dad” character was much too true to life.

I’ve heard it said that the best comedy always has an element of tragedy underlying it. There’s something cathartic and empowering about being able to laugh at your misery. I always liked the idea of the drunk dad fairy. It made me think there must be more than one drunk dad out there who needs to be taken care of.

Happy Un-Birthday To Me!

Someone reminded me that I posted my first blog entry a year ago today, so I felt compelled to share something about that. I started writing a blog a year ago mainly because I was angry and I wanted a public forum in which to vent. I know, that’s incredibly narcissistic of me, but I’m okay with that. I did have other motives though. For years I’d been feeling as though I’d been so well trained in academic writing that I was unable to write outside of that framework anymore. I wanted an opportunity to just write what I wanted without worrying about the format, or the soundness of my argument, or the completeness of my prose. And I’ve definitely found that in the blog. The best part is, I think it’s actually helped my academic writing. When I sat down to write my first comprehensive exam this past fall I was able to just start riffing as soon as the exam began, whereas before I would have stared at the blank screen for ages just waiting for the perfect sentence with which to start.

So to celebrate my “liberation” into non-academic writing, I’m going to do something I rarely do, and that is to share some of my creative writing. A few years ago, I went on a road trip around the UK with a few girlfriends. We were all studying for our Master’s at the University of Edinburgh and we were going to the Guardian Hay Festival in Hay-on-Wye, Wales. The Hay Festival is one of the premiere literary festivals in Europe and attending it was an incredible experience. But the act of actually getting there, and the combination of all the things we saw along the way, was possibly an even better experience. You can probably imagine — seven days in a van with five girls makes for some interesting stories, to say the least. Anyway, when we got back I wrote a poem for them, mainly composed of images from our trip. I had never shared it with anyone outside of that group, partly because I figured it was so esoteric that no one else would appreciate it. But I recently showed it to a friend and she really liked it, so now I’ll share it with all of you.

HAY-ON-WYE

‘Going on a pilgrimage and I’m going to bring…’
Just this one thing, I promise

‘follow the bridge’ they say
but the bridge is not there

do the tracks even reach this far afield?

instead there rests a stone cottage -
home to aging philosophers and musical children
warming their rain-soaked feet by the fire
warming their mist-laden hearts with tea -
frozen in time

dusty books on dusty shelves, treasures waiting to be found

The Old Sage strokes his beard as he listens to us talk
then ties it in a bow above his head
‘interesting…’

His words almost as wise as yours when you said
‘all roads don’t lead to Rome after all; all roads lead Here’

and a memory is rendered -
not a photograph or a souvenir spoon
but a moment grafted onto our secret selves

If Only I’d Gotten There First!

Do you ever read something and think to yourself, “that was the book I should have written”? Or heard a song and thought something similar? I’m not just referring to things you really like. I mean creative output that is so close to home that, had you taken the time to make it yourself, it would have come out almost exactly the same.

Here is a brief list of things I should have made but I’m too lazy so someone beat me there (not to suggest I’m actually quite that multi-talented…).

The book I should have written: Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the 20th Century by Greil Marcus.

The poem I should have written: “The Legs” by Robert Graves. (*see full text below)

The song I should have written: “One Two Three Four” by Feist.

The movie I should have made: Nowhere, dir. Gregg Araki.

The music video I should have made: “Here It Goes Again” by Ok Go.

Wow — that makes me sound really pretentious, doesn’t it? I don’t actually believe I would have done as good of a job with any of those ideas, but who knows cause I never tried!

—

“The Legs”

There was this road,
And it led up-hill,
And it led down-hill,
And round and in and out.

And the traffic was legs,
Legs from the knees down,
Coming and going,
Never pausing.

And the gutters gurgled
With the rain’s overflow,
And the sticks on the pavement
Blindly tapped and tapped.

What drew the legs along
Was the never-stopping
And the senseless, frightening
Fate of being legs.

Legs for the road,
The road for legs,
Resolutely nowhere
In both directions.

My legs at least
Were not in that rout:
On grass by the roadside
Entire I stood,

Watching the unstoppable
Legs go by
With never a stumble
Between step and step.

Though my smile was broad
The legs could not see,
Though my laugh was loud
The legs could not hear.

My head dizzied, then:
I wondered suddenly,
Might I too be a walker
From the knees down?

Gently I touched my shins.
The doubt unchained them:
They had run in twenty puddles
Before I regained them.

What Would Sigmund Freud Say?

I’ve had a cell phone since I was 16 years old. I’m on my phone so often that it is practically an extension of my body now. My text messaging habit borders on addiction — a problem made ever clearer by the fact that more than half of the pictures people take of me feature my phone as well.

Over the years I have dropped phones and broken phones. I snapped my last flip phone in half. But I have never lost or forgotten a phone. If I ever leave home without it, I’ve done so intentionally, but even that rarely happens. This leads me to wonder if there is something in my unconscious that has caused me to lose my phone twice in the past month. Granted, both times I was out drinking. But I’ve also been out drinking countless other times, and been in far worse condition, without leaving my phone behind. Last night, I didn’t just lose it, I actually gave it to a friend of mine for a mysterious and unknown reason and neglected to get it back. The time before that, I left it at a friend’s house and made no subsequent effort to retrieve it. I was actually relieved to not have it.

Maybe I am unconsciously trying to get rid of my phone because I don’t like being so reachable. The unconscious isn’t that straight-forward though so who knows what it actually means. Maybe I keep leaving my phone behind because I have unresolved abandonment issues from the time my mom forgot to pick me up after gymnastics when I was 10 and left me alone at the gym for 3 hours.

You Can Call Me Master

I just put my name into one of those silly online quizzes called “How will you be defined in the dictionary?”

Tara Thomson [noun]: A master blogger.

Haha!

Two Times A Lady

Last night over dinner, I asked my un-boyfriend* if it bothers him when I get all dressed up to go out.

What I had in mind was how angry previous boyfriends used to get with me because I would put on makeup and dress up when I went out with other people, whereas when hanging out with them I would likely just wear my sweatpants, a t-shirt, my bedhead, and my natural face. I often heard comments like “who else are you trying to impress?” or “don’t you care what I think of you?” or “you should wear makeup around me most of all — you look better with it on and who knows how long I’ll stick around.” Assholes.

The response I got this time was unexpected. He started with, “well, it is a bit strange for me because, ummm….” During the pause I pre-emptively thought to myself, “oh great, I thought this guy was different but I guess he’s not.” Then he surprised me by saying, “sometimes when you get all done up to go out, you look so… so… womanly.”

Womanly?

I guess when I asked him the question in the first place, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that he’s 20 years old. It’s funny how different our perspectives are on each other sometimes. And that reminded me that you really never know what’s going on with someone till you ask.

It also reminded me of the first time I truly realized that I was an adult. It was only maybe 2 years ago. I don’t remember where I was but I was walking out of a doorway. There was a woman with her young son on their way in and the kid tried to squeeze past me rather than waiting until I was through. His mother stopped him and said “wait, let this lady pass through first.” I thought to myself, “lady, what lady?” I was so used to hearing myself referred to as a “girl” that hearing “lady” suddenly jolted me right out of my teens and into my late twenties, where I had been the whole time but had failed to realize. It’s funny how the littlest things can completely change the way you see yourself.

—

*NB. “un-boyfriend” refers to the guy I’m dating who I don’t actually consider my boyfriend. Crazy, I know. But that’s just how I roll.

And yes, I’m a cougar, I know.

Simplicity

When I think about my ideal future I always imagine myself living on a farm or on a small island. Something about simplicity is very attractive to me. I want to wake up with the sunrise and be met with no distractions other than simple daily living. I imagine making coffee, having a simple and healthy breakfast, doing errands around the house, reading and writing for most of the day, taking time out to do some gardening, cooking a nice dinner, enjoying a glass of wine, having no noise around me save for CBC radio or perhaps a little music, maybe knitting during the evening, or sitting on the porch drinking tea, maybe even with the company of whomever I’ve decided to live with out in the middle of nowhere. I want to be part of a small community, where we all work together to supply those things we need to live on and provide each other with company when wanted. Who knows if that kind of life even exists anymore but the one thing that really draws me to the possibility is the hope that a simple life would afford me more time. And not just more time with which to do things, but more time with which to not do anything. I suppose I have plenty of time now — but I feel like I waste a lot of it by just engaging with the world. I suppose if I wanted to sit through the evening with the CBC and knit I absolutely could. It would just mean not going out with my friends, avoiding the phone, avoiding the television, and maybe even dragging myself away from my computer!

I’m thinking sometime next year, while I’m working on my dissertation, I’ll take a few months away. Maybe rent a place on one of the gulf islands and just hang out away from the world for awhile. Read and write my days away and relax through the evenings. Although I’ve been specifically told not to do that. I guess people in my program go away in hopes of getting more done and end up just disappearing. But somehow I think it would work better for me. I work so well without distractions and I’m really self-motivated. But I’m too social a person to take the time out that I really need. Finding balance is definitely not a strength I have.

Anyway, when you break it right down, all I really long for is simplicity. I feel like life is far less chaotic and complicated lately than it was even just a couple of months ago, but it’s still not quiet enough. I feel like I still have something to unload — I just don’t know what.

What to do, what to do…

Last week, on Valentine’s Day, I went to see Hayden. He’s a great musician — one of those on-his-own-with-a-guitar-and-a-harmonica kinds of guys — and he played the Alix Goolden Hall in Victoria, which is a converted church. The show was fantastic of course but for some reason it left me with an unexpected feeling. As I was sitting there, listening, taking in the stained glass windows, I became overwhelmed with the desire to make something. My life has always been achievement-oriented. My career path has always been set. And now that I’m closer to making that all happen I’m having moments of doubt. I’m not traumatized by them or anything like that — in a strange way I’m rather enjoying entertaining the possibilities. I keep thinking, I wish I could make music or paint. I think I’d even be satisfied with doing something crafty like knitting or scrapbooking or something. Or even just growing a garden. As long as there was a product at the end of it all. Something that I had made with my own hands and that expressed something of what is inside. I mean, I guess I’m producing stuff all the time in the world of academia, but it’s just not that satisfying right now. The reading is still pretty satisfying — but I’d rather be making something out of it that is entirely different. And it would be nice if it wasn’t all about getting somewhere but rather about enjoying the material I’m working with, which is the reason I went into English in the first place. And the blog is, well, somehow not satisfying either. I’d like to do something more with it, I just don’t know exactly what yet. I guess writing regularly would be a good start.

Epiphany of the Day

Today I realized something very important about myself. I can forgive all kinds of character flaws in people. I don’t necessarily allow glaring issues to deter me from having someone in my life. What I have a hard time letting go of is when someone’s everyday habits don’t mesh with mine. It’s the littlest things that drive me up the wall. Maybe it’s just where I’m at in my life now, maybe it’s the way I’ve always been and always will be, I don’t know. All I know for sure is that I like things in my day-to-day routine to be done my way. That might be selfish but, you know, fuck it.